#because there's comfort in the inertia of staying home

[stealthatsweater]

introvert San

[puppy-the-mask]

This is Briggund, he has every disease <3

He was created for a universe with him and my friend's lamb ocs all managing the camp together and overthrowing the different gods as a new pantheon, so I haven't actually thought about what his own cult would be like yet

More details & picrews under the cut but he's basically a big blood-soaked golden retriever! XD

-Escaped Leshy

-Had no name, he was mistaken for a bandit and called a 'Brigand' when he suddenly rushed out of the brush to confront the group and adopted that as his name 'Briggund', though his friends just call him Brigg

-Easily excitable and impulsive, he loves going on missions outside of camp and slaughtering the cult's enemies and dissenters

-Was exposed to lots of bloodshed as a child when the lambs were being hunted down and had been living alone for a long time surviving in the wild until finally getting caught by Leshy's followers. As a result, Briggund isn't used to "domestic life" at the camp and is uncomfortable with the relatively peaceful atmosphere

-Despite this he's incredibly loyal since the cult took him in and gave him a home. Because of this he's especially strict with dissenters because he sees them as betraying the camp and everyone in it and lowkey takes it personally. Also, since he feels uncomfortable with the peace of the camp it feels like evidence for why he had felt so uneasy, so he feels justified in taking his frustration at his inability to settle in out on them. He sees anyone who would do the cult harm as the enemy, even if it was only lightly doubting the new gods or if they once were allies

-Has a nigh slapstick level of luck when it comes to almost getting beaten up or killed. Someone swings a bat and he looks to the side towards someone who'd called his name and they just miss and the inertia of the swing sends them to the floor. Or he drops to the floor to look at a bug or pick up a sharp rock to throw at someone later just in time to miss getting hit by an arrow.

-Likes working at the bar! ... Do Not Let Him Work At The Bar. His drinks are either really tasty or absolutely horrible and cause hallucinations and vomiting. He says he's just randomly mixing things but if you pay attention you can tell which it'll be by seeing if he sets a drink aside for himself (He either makes something he's craving, or a random mix of plants and things he knows have weird but nonlethal effects so he can watch the drunk people stumbling around and picking fights)

-He sabotages his drinks less when he's not bored. So if he's just returned from an expedition he'll make reliably good drinks and choices, he only acts out when he's gotten antsy. Send him out on missions every now and again and he's actually pretty harmless (so far as messing with the followers goes)

-He used to be covered in leaves and dirt and mats before getting sheared for the first time in forever, somehow the mushrooms remained and kept regrowing. Some think he's cultivating them on purpose. He calls them his 'Emergency Rations' and they cause hallucinogenic effects when eaten, though he's grown a resistance to them over the years. If he tampers with the soup or a drink- it's most likely that one of his mushrooms was included in the mix

-He's still remarkably bad at maintaining his wool, he has no idea how the other lambs' wool stays so clean and soft. It's like the moment he grows it back it comes in covered in dirt and blood. Maybe it's got to do with all the camping in the forest around the cult he does, but sleeping on the ground or in the trees are the only places solid enough for him! The cots are too soft to be comfortable :/

-Fighting pit champion, he keeps almost getting banned for foul play and but they can never prove it. What they really want is to ban him for being too rough, but they didn't exactly set out any rules against what he was doing until after he'd won the matches, so they couldn't ban him for that either. It only took him giving 5 other competitors rabies for them to officially make it a rule to ban biting... At least his fights are always entertaining!

-After converting the gods he has a staunch rivalry with Leshy, not even out of anything personal they just hate each other. It's because they're shockingly similar in a lot of ways, but there can be only one! They're always trying to one up each other

The picrews that started it all ^^^

[trenchcoatsbi]

this is 🦁🏔️ anon, answering the ask game!! hopefully it doesn't get too long

Share your memories!

Where we live now, there isn't any snow or a big temperature change during the winter, but in my source it SNOWED. SO MUCH. And I remember hitching car rides home from the station with some of my coworkers/partners and hopping in the back seat to turn on the heater... And I miss everyone from the station. No one was perfect and we all kinda got caught up in some crappy stuff but I miss the friendships I had. Also I think a lot of us miss snow in general. - raoir

Is there any foods from your source that you can't have anymore/miss? (Big Q asks for your favourite ice cream flavors)

nope! I think for most of us, everything we liked in source is here. also I LOVE chocolate peanut butter ice cream. dick likes vanilla or pecan stuff, luke likes chocolate, redd likes birthday cake, and ronan likes peanut butter (he is so dog-coded /j) - fritz

What was/is your favorite thing about Minecraft? (If youre from an MC-based source.)

none of us are sourced from minecraft stuff but i really like the farming. like i LOVE farming. start up a server with us on it and there will be a huge wheat farm in no time. i think that ties back to how in both my sources i was raised on a farm??? i'm only making that connection now lmao - macdon

Who do you miss the most?

I miss my partners. Things got really bad in source, and I lost one of them and never got to apologize to the other. I wish I could see them again and make everything right. - raoir

i miss my girlfreind,,,,, so much,,, where is she /silly - redd

i miss my kids!!! my little troublemakers !! i need someone (NOT my husband) to cringe at my dad jokes /j - ro

What’s the best thing about being kin/an alter for you?

i love that we're like a big family. granted that doesn't mean we don't get on each other's nerves a lot lmao. but it's nice to never be alone. there's almost always someone looking over your shoulder or idly chatting with you, and it's really comforting. - m

same as above. also i love buying things i know someone else will like and saving it for them. (our etsy favourite list is a mess LMAO) - ronan

If you could swap your kins/who you’re based off, would you?

uhhhh technically i would. but i would switch my source to like. the version of me that actually ended up introjecting? if that makes sense? because Canon Me is a NIGHTMARE. he's a creep. but i literally only have two things in common with the guy. i look like him and we both played baseball in college. lmao. (also i literally just realized that i was falling back on. old habits in those other asks i sent. source's name is luc. i tried changing my name to luke. aaaugh. fuk /silly) - luke

What’s your favorite music? Additionally, do any songs help you get into shift/front?

completely breezing past the first question sorry fdhgkldfj. gonna dump some of our front trigger songs here (i'm always around so this isn't applicable to me lmao). come get some free music recs /silly - m

TC: BUTCHER VANITY - pann ver. (by pann) (TW: gore/cannibalism)

Dick: Inertia (by AJR) (both the normal and acoustic versions!)

Fion: Lavender Forever (by Jake Wesley Rogers)

Redd: Transylvania Mania (from Young Frankenstein)

Fritz: HEAVEN SAYS. (by chart)

Galloway: Sleeping in the Kitchen (by Madilyn Mei & Addison Grace)

Luke: Literal Monster (from Nerdy Prudes Must Die)

Macdon: Eat Your Young (by Hozier)

Raoir: 25 or 6 to 4 (by Chicago)

Ro: Shivers (by Ed Sheeran)

Ronan: it boy (by bbno$)

Tommy: The Lotto (by Ingrid Michaelson & AJR)

WOW that was a lot lmao. uhhhh (youtuber voice) if you reached the end, drink some water, stay hydrated, take a stretch break if you can (writing this from our shrimp artist position,,, oough. spine.)

also we saw people talking about pokemon and our favourite pokemon is skarmory!! it used to be another pokemon but then we did a shiny hunt for skarmory in ORAS and it took like 600+ encounters. we named it macduff after the shakespeare guy lmao.

- 🦁🏔️ [several of us lmao]

EATS UP THE MUSIC REQS

also skarmory! i dont see much skarmory love around, thats awesome! they suit you guys :3 /pos

also.... snrk..... the name dick... /T /SILLY

[inkadeals]

ProForm - Pro 2000 - Black » $1243.99

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[rabbitcruiser]

Make Your Bed Day

Make Your Bed Day aims to make everyone aware of the benefits of making the bed every morning! Not to be confused with ‘Aww, Mom, Do I Have To?’ Day, which runs for 364 days in the year, this day is a delightful departure from complaining and encourages folks to enjoy making their beds!

One of the easiest chores that can be accomplished, Make Your Bed Day is filled with fun-filled ways to look at making the bed from a different perspective.

History of Make Your Bed Day

The phrase “make your bed” probably began as early as times when a bed was nothing more than a simple mat on the floor. Tidying up the sleeping space would have been more crucial when families also used sleeping spaces as living spaces; the kid who didn’t make their bed caused the rest of the family to trip over it throughout the day!

But even in more modernized cultures with separate bedrooms, the act of bed making can be filled with many benefits. It seems that getting into the habit of making your bed is a great boon to mental health. Not only that, but having a tidy sleep environment, according to sleep researchers, makes for more restful sleep.

Plus, it could be assumed that starting the day with at least one ‘chore’ already done and dusted creates a more positive attitude and can help a person take the rest of the day’s challenges in stride! As the bed is the focal point of the bedroom, when it’s made, the whole room looks tidier, and becomes more relaxing and less stressful as a result.

How to Celebrate Make Your Bed Day

While some people may think this day sounds like a chore–it’s not! Once people learn the benefits behind it, Make Your Bed can become a delightful day to celebrate. Try out these ideas for engaging in activities:

Do the Obvious: Make Your Bed

Rather than leaping out of bed and into the fray leaving behind a tangled mass of procrastination, use Make Your Bed Day to start a new habit. It’s a tiny little thing that can make a big difference. Once it’s done, many people find that they are a bit more motivated to do something else and a chain reaction is started.

Learn the Benefits of Making Your Bed

In addition to just having a nicer place to live, making your bed can provide these benefits:

Improved Sleep Quality. Sleeping in a calm, clean room helps with relaxation and promotes a better night of sleep, according to the National Sleep Foundation (https://www.sleepfoundation.org/bedroom-environment)

Increased Productivity. Piggybacking on the idea that an object in motion stays in motion, when humans start one small thing, they tend to have more of an ability to do other things as well. On the other hand, plagued by inertia, people who do nothing tend to remain stagnant, unchanged, unmotivated and….unmade!

Reduced Stress. A clear link has been made between the way that living and working in an organized space can improve mental health. Fight against the chaos first thing in the morning by making up that bed.

Get Some New Bedding

Sometimes people don’t want to make their beds because they don’t really take pride in the color, design or beauty of their bedrooms. Make Your Bed Day is the perfect excuse to get a new bedspread, comforter, pillow or blanket. Those who enjoy the way their bedrooms look will feel more at peace.

This can be accomplished by shopping online or popping over to the local home goods store to gain access to some beautiful Egyptian cotton sheets or a lovely down comforter that can fill a colorful duvet cover. Actually, comforters (or duvets) can inspire bed making because there’s no need for a top sheet or those pesky hospital corners! Just throw it over the bed, straighten it, and voila! The bed is made.

Take advantage of Make Your Bed Day to create a new habit–a small task that could impact your entire world!

Source

[b-ja]

Schrödinger’s Suburbia. A short story.

In a town where every house was a perfect copy of the next, Tim Jenkins prepared to live yet another day identical to the last.

The smooth, unblemished white walls of his home reflected the existential void that defined his life. Every morning, he woke up in the same queen-sized bed with sheets he didn’t remember buying, in a house he didn’t recall choosing, next to a wife who... well, might or might not exist. Just like Schrödinger’s cat, Lisa Jenkins was simultaneously present and absent in a marriage teetering between stability and total collapse.

Quantum physics would have a lot to say about Tim. According to theory, there was a probability, however infinitesimal, that a single subatomic particle could appear out of nowhere and blow up the entire neighborhood. Or it could just decide not to exist. Much like Tim’s will to live. But of course, no one really thought about that because people who lived in neighborhoods like this never really thought. If the observer alters the observed, then Tim was living proof that there wasn’t much to observe in the first place.

As the coffee slowly dripped into his cup—the one with "World’s Best Dad" written on it that he didn’t remember ever buying—Tim wondered if the universe was just screwing with him. The idea that particles could exist in superimposed states, that time was a jagged line rather than a straight one, and that his choices didn’t mean a damn thing in the grand scheme of things didn’t comfort him at all. In fact, it pissed him off. If the universe wanted him to believe he had any control over his life, it was doing a piss-poor job.

The philosopher in Tim’s mind—who, to be honest, was more of a narcissist than a deep thinker—began to ponder free will. If the universe was truly indeterminate, if every choice he made was just an illusion, then why the hell did he bother making those choices? You could say Tim was living in a quantum loop where every day was a repeat of the last, and every decision he made was just a fraction of a fraction of a probability.

Why not just screw it all? Why not flip a coin, let probability decide? But as always, Tim ended up choosing the path of least resistance. It was the conformist's paradox: aware of the trap he was caught in, yet too scared to shake it off. Schrödinger’s thought experiments and Zeno’s paradoxes were his daily bread, but in the end, they only served to reinforce his inertia. Like an electron unable to decide which orbit to choose, Tim oscillated between "doing something" and "letting things stay the same."

And so, with his perfectly orchestrated daily routine, Tim left the house, got into his black sedan (the same black sedan that every other Tim Jenkins in every other parallel universe was driving), and headed to work. His mind wandered over concepts of multiverses, of lives not lived, of possibilities never explored. But of course, he did nothing about it. After all, who observes a particle without changing themselves too? Tim Jenkins was evidently not that kind of particle.

And the neighborhood continued to exist, unless someone somewhere decided to look at it too closely. But who would ever bother to observe something so irrelevant so closely? And so, Tim Jenkins’s life, just like that subatomic particle, remained in a state of superposition—between existing and not existing, between making a choice and just letting life happen.

Until someone finally opened that damned box.

But who exactly would have the guts to do it? Certainly not Tim Jenkins, who lived trapped in his routine like a hamster on a wheel. The box stayed shut, the cat potentially dead, potentially alive, and Tim, well, potentially free, potentially a slave.

As he drove to work, a bizarre thought crossed his mind like a glitch in the matrix of his monotony. What if all this was an experiment, a twisted test orchestrated by some higher entity? Maybe God—or worse, a quantum physicist—having fun seeing how long Tim could endure the nothingness before imploding. If it really was an experiment, Tim thought, then there had to be an observer somewhere, someone recording his every move, every non-choice, and silently laughing at his inability to break out of his own box.

“Fuck it all,” Tim thought, not even really believing it himself. It was a rebellious thought, a mental act of insubordination that he would never have the courage to put into practice. Because even in his fake disdain, Tim knew he wasn’t going to do anything different. He would park the car in the usual spot, walk to his cubicle, and spend eight hours typing meaningless data into a system no one would ever really check. Then he would drive back home, have dinner with Lisa in awkward silence, and fall asleep thinking about the thousand possibilities he would never have the courage to explore.

And yet that persistent thought, that nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, there was something else outside this box, kept buzzing in his head. Maybe if he just stopped playing the conformist, stopped acting like an electron unable to decide which orbit to choose, he’d finally find the guts to open the box. But not today. Today he’d do exactly what he did every day: absolutely nothing.

The morning traffic was, as always, an orderly flow of identical cars, each driven by another version of Tim Jenkins. The other drivers were just shadows, reflections of his own banality, indistinct figures gliding through the city like neutrinos through matter. Invisible. Insignificant.

His thoughts returned to quantum physics. Particles that exist only when observed, that behave predictably—until they don’t. But Tim wasn’t a particle, and no one was observing him—at least not in any way that mattered. Maybe that was his real problem: there was no one watching. Nothing giving weight or meaning to his existence. In a world where every atom was monitored, where every possibility was calculated, Tim Jenkins was the exception. An unobserved man. A quantum error in an ordered universe.

What if he just stopped doing what everyone expected? What if he ditched everything, drove toward the horizon, and kept driving until the gas or the earth ran out? But he knew he wouldn’t. He’d go back home to Lisa, to their box. The box he’d keep shut because opening it meant facing the reality that maybe there had never been anything inside.

He arrived at the office, parked the car, and turned off the engine. He sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Not today,” he thought again, but this time there was a hint of defiance, a small glimmer of rebellion.

Maybe tomorrow he’d open that box.

Or maybe not.

Because really, who would notice?

Like an old rusty mechanism that suddenly started working again, creaking and groaning.

“Fuck it all,” he said out loud this time. The words echoed in the empty parking lot, a sound that felt more real than anything he’d ever said before. For the first time in years, he felt the truth of those words. No one was watching him, no one was controlling him, and maybe—just maybe—that meant he could do anything.

Tim turned and started walking—but not toward the office. He kept walking, past the parking lot, across the street, with no clear direction. The world around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, Tim felt like he was the only real thing in a universe of shadows. Traffic whizzed by him, but he didn’t even notice. The city that had held him captive for so long was dissolving, revealing a horizon he had never dared to imagine.

With each step, Tim felt lighter, as if he was shedding weight, but not just physical. It was as if he was unloading his baggage of expectations, fears, and compromises. The box that had trapped his existence was finally opening, and inside, there was neither a live cat nor a dead one, but a void that seemed infinitely full of possibilities.

He didn’t know where he was going, but for the first time, he didn’t care. The world stretched out before him, a blank slate on which he could finally write something of his own. Every step took him further from the old life, from false choices, from compromises. It was as if he was daring the universe itself to stop him, to prove that there really was a destiny, a path already laid out.

But the universe remained silent. No invisible hand pulled him back, no force stopped him. And as he walked further and further away, Tim realized that maybe the only person who ever had the power to observe him, to change him, was himself.

He walked until the sun began to set, painting the sky with colors he had never noticed before. In that moment, with the sun dipping below the horizon and the cool air filling his lungs, Tim Jenkins finally felt free. Free from everything he had been, free to be anyone he wanted.

And so, without a plan, without a map, Tim Jenkins left his old life behind and disappeared into the twilight—a particle finally in motion, determined to create his own destiny, to draw his own orbit. Maybe the universe would take note of him, maybe not. But Tim no longer needed to be observed to exist. Finally, he was no longer a suspended possibility—he was real.

And for the first time, the world seemed to make sense.

[everettcannon]

TASK 006 // ELEMENTS

Earth

You’re so dependable that everyone always knows what to expect with you, and that’s why you have the longest, strongest relationships possible.  You tend to have very good, learned-experience-based advice and can offer it in accessible ways to others.

Wherever you live is a welcoming place; you’re very good at making a comfortable home and seeing to the needs of people who might wander in.  You can probably give a very good hug, massage, or other physical experience someone wants or needs, and you have a good sense of when someone might appreciate these physical comforts.

You tend to get so rooted that you can’t uproot even when you need to.  This can cause you to stay in a terrible situation because change scares you more than continuing to endure.  Sometimes you have trouble seeing other people’s perspectives because you’ve learned yours through personal experience and might not have much inclination to consider another person’s experiences equally valid if they yielded different conclusions.  You might even stick to a point you made after you’ve been proven wrong because you don’t want to be seen flip-flopping.

You may have a tendency toward laziness.  Being patient, you may be fine with procrastination and lack of immediate action, which can frustrate others.  Sometimes certain comforts are so enjoyable to someone like you who’s so physically connected that you overindulge, and develop inertia regarding any attempt to address getting out of your rut.

[a-lil-perspective]

Late night drives with Crosshair are magical.

It’s reveling in the slow sidle of skin and cresting speeds, the exhilaration that comes with a new color palette for your viewing pleasure; golden yellow dipped far behind a midnight blue, the way night feels beautifully scandalous, and free, and no one can see you but you’ve never felt more seen.

Just two souls colliding under the stars, you and him.

It ushers you into a peace you’ve never known, the propulsion towards palliative conversation, or the lack thereof; he knows of your presence inexorably so - in that he can reach across the console and find you, intertwine your fingers to stage an affection otherwise too great for words. He never takes his eyes off the road ahead. He knows you’re there, drinking in the sights and sensations of a moonlit inertia.

It’s not so much aimless or listless - those are words pejorative to a sniper. Crosshair always has a route in mind, and better yet: a destination. His sights are set on where he wants to go, with whom he wants to go. He’s plotted a course and it’s trustworthy (and it leads him home).

And he’s always been able to see, even through the thick folds of night, in ways both unfathomable and unconventional to you, but admirable all the same.

Wherever Crosshair goes, you follow.

You affirm as much as you slide into the passenger seat, where you’re met with a treasure trove that is his smile, fueled by quiet debonair and prompting a quick smooch to his cheek as he backs the vehicle out and pulls away.

He stays on wide expanses of road, a threadbare familiarity but affording dependability, and comfort, for both he and you.

Mostly you; in which is his priority above all else.

(And the bumpy, windy back roads aren’t what lull you to sleep, he’s figured out.)

He’s figured out a lot of things, some he discloses through a murmur, and the rest he seeks respite from for the night. Sometimes soft tunes from the radio come to his aid, other times his soul quietly seeks you out to help mitigate.

You watch him in the discreetness, wondering briefly what runs through his head with each flicker of expression you’re afforded through the orange intervals of light racing down the highway, peeking out among heady shadows, dashing across his face.

Orange looks good on Crosshair, you decide distantly.

He remains in contact with you, one hand on the wheel and the other sliding down to your thigh where he thumbs over the soft skin, signatures of comfort to let you know that he’s here, not marching far away.

You reach out and run your fingers over the side of his head, over a telltale scar, and the silver fibers of hair growing back with sweet clemency. Your fingernails scratch lightly along, and he leans into the touch.

The silence is palpable, but it’s oh-so-comfortable.

Because words don’t hang thickly in the air; they’ve a gentle, sparse contact with you before dispersing into something lovely and familiar, breeding tranquility, settling in the space between. You bask in the silence and the solace he offers amidst recycled cabin air and tinted windows.

And you drive for an undetermined length of time, the waning hours and the steady engine and the warm connection lulling you to sleep.

You rouse sometime later to Crosshair’s gentle prompt—we’re home—his words register in the fuzzy place between awake and asleep. He unbuckles you from your seat and slips his arms under you, bringing you to his chest and into the balmy night air. He nudges your door shut and carries you inside to bed, where he settles alongside you, where he remains when you wake.

[cynettic]

Kaeya x Reader x Diluc Platonic ( just a sip )

Summary - As the younger sibling of Diluc and Kaeya, they were strict on you not drinking since you were too young for it. What if you took a quick sip-

Pairings - Platonic Sibling Squabble

Warnings - Nonee

A/N - I’m tempted to make another one shot of them lecturing Y/n- also kids, don’t drink, and don’t take this one shot as an idea to do so 😅

Just a Sip

To drink or not to drink.

You leaned over the wooden counter, peering idly at the customers that bustled out of the Tavern doors with sheepish grins. Playing bartender for a few minutes posed no problem, being as you often managed the tavern on your own on certain nights.

Of course, the problem being that you could never drink.

Your brothers had made that clear to you from day one, Diluc teaching you the mechanics of the machines. How to make certain drinks, slide it across the counter with ease, offer a comforting smile to the customers who did pass by. Kaeya had simply played customer, demanding the most atrocious of drinks just to get you riled. That, and to get you used to the speed of each order. On the occasions that you fumbled with a glass, or began to panic, he always offered his aid.

Yet the rule stayed in the same state of inertia.

You understood to some extent, alcohol was illegal to anyone below the age gap that you unfortunately found yourself grouped in. Odd considering it wasn’t illegal for you to be working in a tavern that selled it.

‘Ah, fuck it.’

You inclined the glass to your lips, welcoming the cold drink, bitter against your tongue.

Pity it was the same time that both Diluc and Kaeya entered from the back room.

After all, you’d just been covering them for a little bit, letting them settle concerns with Charlie just behind the bar counter. But now that they re-emerged from the back, spotting your form hunched over the bar counter, drink in hand.

Shoot-

Now that they were here, that meant that you could run right?

“Y/n, what are you-“ Diluc started first, a step taking him half the distance between his tall towering figure and you. Of course you didn’t let him finish, grip tightening on the cup as you slipped out of inside the counter.

Maybe running was the best option-

The drink burned down your throat, a sensation so unknowingly foreign you could only want more. Despite its awful taste, you could slightly understand why Kaeya chugged so much of it down.

The glass in your hand didn’t even quiver as you kicked the tavern door open, sprinting out just as Kaeya hopped over the bar counter. Both him and Diluc were practically at the doorframe by the time you’d gotten two steps out the doorway. Probably because you were trying not to tip the drink in your hand, and because they had longer legs.

Unfair advantage-

Nevertheless, you were racing down the streets of Monstadt, occasionally taking sips of the drink as if the seething burn against your throat encouraged you to faster. The footsteps that raced behind you certainly did, and a pang of terror filled you when you felt hands lace around your waist, pulling you to a stop.

Oh well- they caught up.

It was Kaeya that had gotten hold of you, and Diluc stepped just in front of him, gingerly taking the glass from your hand as he flashed you a glare. Eyeing the remaining content of the beverage, he frowned, hand coaxing his temples.

“I told Charles to take care of the tavern,” Diluc simply said. It didn’t take long for you to realize that it was meant for Kaeya, and that he was completely ignoring you as you nearly dangled from the blue haired boys grip. He hadn’t let you go, and after what you’d just pulled, you had a feeling he wouldn’t be lenient to let you loose tonight either.

“I’ll take them home,” was what Kaeya replied with, tugging you even higher in his hold so you were dangling.

No further words were spoken, and the two of them walked side by side as Diluc headed to the tavern, Kaeya to his own household. It was probably one of the few times where they were able to walk side by side without clawing at each other’s throats, and you probably would’ve delved in the situation if it weren’t for the fact that you were practically being carried at this point.

“I can walk…”

Silence ensued, Kaeya’s voice rising after a minute of awkwardness. “Fine, but don’t try pulling anything silly.”

As if you could do that with Diluc on your right and Kaeya on your left-

Let back on your own two feet, you let out a deep sigh, glancing back at the near empty cup. Certainly not enough to get drunk, or even tipsy, and a part of you wanted to try it. You knew that despite being underage to drink alcohol yet, that it wasn’t good for you and such, but your curiosity seemed to push through that.

“Why’d you do it?”

“The wine?”

Diluc shot you a frown, “What else?”

“Dunno, wanted to try it I guess?”

Kaeya beside you sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed by the response. “We’ve told you before Y/n, just wait a bit longer, you’ll be old enough soon.”

“You drank when you were underage,” you accused, a sour look making its way on your lips.

Kaeya simply shrugged in response, Diluc offering another glare at the cavalry knights next words. “Well, I wasn’t stupid enough to get caught.”

If only it was that easy…

Yet a smile etched onto your face at the thought of sneaking a drink at the tavern. Definitely not today, or anytime soon with these two by your side, but eventually..

[ladyeliot]

Atoms.

Request: Anonymous: Heyy! Can you do a fluffy something like childhood friends>friends to lovers with Tony Stark? Thanks so much! And happy valentine's day!

Pairing: Teen!Tony Stark x Teen!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Tony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but sometimes the line between friendship and love is a fine one.

Warnings: Fluff / Childhood 

Word count: 3359

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

In all friendships there is a fine line that separates love from simple friendship, in fact, on many occasions we cut that fine line without realising it. We come to think that things just happen, that there is nothing we can do to change the cycle of life, that everything is programmed and that those who are meant to be together, will be together.

It all began on a cloudy Friday, May 29, 1970. In a small town on the east side of Long Island, two new mothers were struggling fiercely to bring a baby into the world. The night had been long, a storm had left the town without electricity, a fact that had not hindered the delivery, but that had increased the nerves of these parents. After hours of suffering, screams and internal curses, at 6:29 pm two babies were able to see the world with their own eyes for the first time. At that very moment an invisible thread connected the two of them, so that it was at that very moment that they were brought together in the maternity ward and never to be separated again.

Childhood is the time when you can create the best memories that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Yours was shared with Tony, so he was present in virtually all of your memories. The fact that your mothers created a true friendship after the birth facilitated the deep connection you found on both sides. From birth you were never separated, you learned to discover the world together, you entered the first day of school together and you graduated together.

It was obvious that you had great things in common, but your characters were completely different, maybe that's what made you two work so well together, what limited one of you, the other one could overcome. When your fear prevented you from daring to do something, Tony was by your side to help you overcome it. In the same way, when Tony felt insecure about himself, you were there to erase all his insecurities from his mind. You both evolved and improved each other.

Your childhood helped you understand the importance of having each other, the value of your friendship, even if there were little bumps in the road. Tony was your first time at all times, he was the one you did your first prank with, the one you took your first swim in the pool with, the one you learned to ride a bike with, the one you shared your Halloween candy with, the one you celebrated your birthdays with, Tony was everything, he was even your first kiss.

It was 1978, innocence was still within you, causing you to see the world with eyes that were still unaware of the vast majority of things that lay before you. Laughter was coming through the wooden windows of your tree house. You were lying on a rug looking at a photo album that your mother had lent you, with some pictures of you and Tony from when you were practically babies.

"Look at you here," you said with a chuckle, looking back at the picture of two-year-old Tony crying next to you. "You're crying in all the pictures."

Tony bumped his shoulder against yours in complaint and turned the page.

"Why is it that in all the pictures of your parents alone they're kissing?" he asked quizzically, not quite understanding the act.

"I guess it's because they love each other," you said without making a big deal out of the gesture, as you were more than used to seeing them kissing in front of you.

"My parents love each other too and they don't kiss," Tony commented turning the page.

You shrugged, turning your attention back to the photo album. But Tony still had the idea in the back of his mind.

"Do your parents kiss every day?" he asked, sitting up.

"Hm..." you looked thoughtful at his question and also sat up. "Yes, whenever mum or dad comes home or leaves, or when we go to sleep..."

"Wow!" exclaimed Tony totally shocked by your words. "And... they like it?"

"I guess..." you shrugged holding up your palm. "Why else would they do it?"

"Makes sense," Tony nodded, processing the information. "Maybe my parents don't like it, that's why they don't."

That was the first time the two of you had broached that topic of conversation, Tony seemed more curious than you, as you had already gone back to further contemplating the photographs.

"Will we like it?" he asked, catching your attention again.

"I don't know," you said with a shrug.

" Should we try it?" asked your best friend cheerfully, expecting an affirmative answer from you.

"You and me?" you asked unreceptive to the idea Tony had just proposed.

"Yeah, why not, we love each other, that's all we need, you said it," he smiled brimming with innocence.

"I don't know..." you frowned thoughtfully, not sure if it was quite right what he was proposing. "What if we don't like it?"

"I guess it's okay," Tony stood up and grabbed your hand to pull you up.

"Wait, how do we do this?" you asked nervously, looking into his eyes.

"You just close your eyes," he informed. "I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay." You couldn't help but let out a small nervous laugh, which prompted another one from Tony.

"Okay, close your eyes," he said again. "When I kiss you, mentally count to five."

You finally agreed to comply with the guidelines offered by your best friend. There you were, standing in the middle of that cabin, wearing a yellow strapless dress with your eyes closed, waiting for your best friend to approach you and give you your first kiss. After closing your eyes, Tony took three seconds to approach you, put his lips against yours and you mentally counted to five. The sensation was strange, very particular, you didn't know enough words at that time to express it and you didn't know much about feelings and love, so you couldn't stand the five seconds he proposed and after the third one you broke away, wiping your lips vigorously with your hand.

"It's awful!" you exclaimed looking at your friend. "I don't understand my parents!"

Tony seemed surprised at your reaction, but quickly joined in your disgust, falsely, as he hadn't found the experience so terrible.

And he was also the second kiss.

It was the summer of 1984, two friends on bicycles riding through the wooded area that separated your houses from the lake, laughing, struggling to find out who would get there first, but a pothole appeared in the road and a badly positioned stone caused your front wheel to lose its balance, overturning your bicycle. Tony behind you, instantly slowed down with a look of concern on his face, contemplating Tony behind you, brakes instantly with a look of concern on his face, staring at your bloodied knee.

"Are you okay?" asks your best friend with a tone of concern in his voice rushing towards you.

Without responding you stand up, trying to recover from your fall and discovering the pain as your leg hits the ground, Tony is already kneeling down, analysing the scrape you've made on your knee.

"Come lean on me," he drapes your right arm across his shoulders. "Come on under that tree, I'll clean your wound."

After positioning yourself comfortably in the shade of the oak tree, Tony runs back to his bike to get the canteen.

"Don't worry," you squeaked from a distance, playing it down. "I'm fine."

"Are you going to stop your stubbornness and let me clean the wound?" Tony arched an eyebrow which elicited a chuckle from you. "Thanks."

As the water poured over your wound you felt a stinging prickle, which was relieved when you wrapped your hand tightly around Tony's arm.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as he felt your strength in his arm.

"Ouch me!" you groaned at his complaint, generating a chuckle from your friend's mouth.

"Okay, that's it," he said, closing the canteen. "You know you're the poster child for Newton's three laws? The law of inertia, the fundamental law of dynamics and the principle of action and reaction."

"And you are the clearest example of the idiot's law," you said with a laugh, for I had just called you clumsy in a clever way.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you. "But I'm your idiot."

That was one of those moments when Tony would crush you against him and start giving you quick kisses all over your face just because he knew how much that annoyed you, but it made you laugh at the same time.

"Tony!" you exclaimed with laughter, trying to run away from him.

Coincidences can happen, but you never knew if it was a real coincidence due to the fast movements of both of you or if there was really an intention behind it, but Tony kissed your lips, pausing a little longer than usual. You, thinking it was unintentional, kept pushing him and your eyes widened in laughter.

"Whoa! Sorry," he said quickly. "Law of inertia, not my fault."

You laughed and gave him another shove, leaving what had just happened forgotten in your mind.

And the third.

It happened when you were in eleventh grade, Tony had always been a very joking child and sometimes his innocence did not allow him to realise the level of his jokes or how they were going to affect the people who made them. He had discovered early on that one thing he loved most was making you laugh, so day after day he would try anything to get a laugh out of you. That ranged from pretending to trip, to throwing his spaghetti at the first person he passed in the school cafeteria.

Eventually his personality caught people's attention, let's say the law of attraction was in his persona and that became present by high school, so if you connect his joking side with the attractive side it creates a bomb.

For you that discovery came a little late, too late, at least that's what you thought at that moment when you saw him connecting intimately with a girl in a higher grade than you. You hated yourself for having been so blind for so long, for not having realised it before and also for having that kind of feeling towards your best, because they could destroy everything you had created for so many years, practically since you were born. You told yourself that it was stupid, that it was probably just a passing thought and that you would soon forget about it, that it would be better not to give it any importance. But it wasn't.

You decided that one of the best ways to let off steam would be to write down how you felt, to write down every thought that came into your head and let it go forever. It would have been the best way in the world if you hadn't confused that notebook with your physics notebook, put it in your backpack and forgotten your backpack at Tony's house when you decided to go to the movies instead of studying that afternoon.

It was too late when you discovered the event, you were about to free your mind when you picked up the blue notebook and discovered that it was the physics notebook, therefore the notebook where you were exploring your thoughts would be....

"Tony!" you exclaimed into the earpiece.

"What's up, it's 12 o'clock at night?" his sleepy voice could be heard on the other end of the receiver.

"Do you know... I don't know, did I by any chance leave my backpack with my books in it at your place?" you asked, praying that I hadn't been gossiping in it.

"Your backpack? Let me go," he asked and a small knock was heard from the other side causing a minute's silence. "Yeah, it's in my room."

"Okay..." you said in a whisper. "Uh..."

"Do you need it now?" he asked somewhat strangely. "Don't you have your homework done? If you want I can finish it in a moment."

"No, no, no!" you exclaimed quickly. "It's all good, all done, don't worry, everything's great."

"Okay," he said dismissively. "Then tomorrow when I come to pick you up I'll bring it to you."

"Yeah, great, yeah," your nervousness increased, you wanted to tell him not to look inside, but you knew that by telling him he would probably end up doing it, so you preferred not to say anything else and let whatever happened happen happen.

The next morning Tony turned up as usual, with a smile on his face, chatty, funny and you knew that nothing had happened and nothing had changed, in short, a big weight was lifted off your shoulders.

"Shall we go to physics class? Mr. Gilbert will be looking forward to my dissertation on atoms and the origin of the Big Bang," he said closing his locker. "I think you'll like it too."

"You go ahead," you said, waiting for him to leave to exchange notebooks. "I'll catch up with you."

"Alright."

You waited for him to disappear into the crowd to make the exchange, but first you glanced around checking for any sign that someone had read it, however....

"In the first seconds after the Big Bang, the density and warmth of the universe barely allowed life to generate. As the universe cooled, the matter we are made of began to appear: quarks and electrons, which gave way to protons and neutrons, and then nuclei. As it expanded, things began to happen more slowly, until electrons became trapped in orbits to form the first atoms. Those atoms gave way to stars and galaxies, which uniformly gave way to life, to you and me. So you see, you just have to let the universe do its work, because you and I are those atoms that came together hundreds of millions of years ago and were created to be together."

A structural blockage was happening inside you at that moment, you read that paragraph over and over and over again, until there was hardly anyone left around you. Your heart was pounding fervently, causing sweat to break out all over your body. Your sanity was gone, you didn't know what to do, where to go, or how to act, you just wanted to escape. When your physical block passed, you gathered all your belongings from your locker and headed outside, trying to get some air back into your lungs. The only thing that was going through your mind was that your best friend had read those fifty-seven pages you had written for the moment, where you expressed, without any caution, everything that was going through your mind about him, accentuating your romantic feelings.

You wanted to disappear at that very moment, to go into a burrow or a bunker and stay there until it was all over. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you were walking aimlessly, but as far away from that building as possible. How could you not have noticed anything about Tony to let you know that he had read it? You were so distressed that you barely analysed what he had written to you, where he also expressed his feelings in his own particular way. You finally found an escape at the bus stop, wishing for a bus to go somewhere far away as soon as possible.

Every word that came out of you was a curse, at you of course. Reminding you what an idiot you had been, that you had ruined the best thing you had, that you couldn't have been more stupid, and hundreds of negative things that prevented you from getting out of that black bubble you had created for yourself, but as always he had to appear to make you see reason.

"Y/N!" Tony's voice was heard behind you. "What are you doing?"

Your eyes closed and you prayed it wasn't true what you were hearing, but it was too late, you had to face the truth.

"Hey!" Tony stepped up beside you. "If we were going to make up from physics class you could have at least given me a heads up. I looked like an idiot when I saw you through the window walking out of school." You looked away, didn't say anything. "What's wrong with you?"

It was bad enough what you were going through without having to put up with Tony's attitude, who showed his indifference as if nothing had happened, a fact that pissed you off even more.

"No! What the hell is wrong with you?" you said angrily. "Why did you read my diary? Who the hell gave you permission?"

"Okay, fine. I did," he began, relaxing the tone of his voice and avoiding not smiling, because he knew it might make you even angrier. "But for my defence I promise you it was after I spoke to you on the phone, I saw you so nervous I thought you lied to me when you said you had your homework done, so I checked, and I must say I couldn't stop reading when I started. I know! I should have stopped, it's something very intimate and personal, but... I just couldn't," he paused. "And I don't regret it."

After hearing his last words you opened your eyes in surprise and shook your head indignantly for having heard him say that he did not regret doing it.

"No regrets?" you folded your arms, stopping the tears of anger that had welled up in your eyes from sliding down your cheek.

"No," Tony said firmly. "And I never will."

"This is insane," you shook your head turning away.

"Listen," Tony interjected, grabbing your arm and pulling you back to face him. "Have you stopped to think about what I've written or are you just focused on the fact that I've read your diary?" he asked searching your gaze. "Better yet, is it true? Is everything you've written in there true? Do you feel that way? Are you... in love with me?"

"Oh my god..." shame had taken over your anger and all you wanted to do was run away from there, but Tony's hand around your right arm prevented you from doing so.

"Please, just answer me," he begged.

"I..." you looked around avoiding answering that question, focused on your world and your feelings. "I don't know."

" Well, that's good enough for me."

That "I don't know" was enough for Tony, because he discovered that there was a "yes" hidden in them, therefore he didn't hesitate to approach your face and do what he had been wanting to do for so long, kiss you. His words were true when he said that he didn't regret it and he was never going to do it because probably if it hadn't been for his intention to do your homework, he would never have read that diary and neither of you would probably ever have told the other how you really felt, because you were afraid of breaking what had been created from the moment you were born.

As I said at the beginning, the fine line that separates love from friendship sometimes gets cut without us realising it, and when we do realise it, we think it's too late or that maybe it would be better not to take the risk, because things could turn around and change for the worse, but who says they can't get better? That love can't triumph?

Taglist Open (DM)

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[thoughts-of-ghanashyam]

𝖀𝖓𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉

We are more and more busy drawing our supposed happiness from the material world and transferring our minds to virtual worlds. Facebook, Instagram, TikTok...and now the upcoming Metaverse. We are literally escaping into the virtual and material world, confusing true happiness with superficial pleasure.

We have revolutionized communication with people around the world on one hand, but have forgotten how to communicate and interact with strangers in the same space without reservations on the other.

We are so busy getting our personal validation from the material world that we are losing "US" more and more in the process. In this way we have forgotten who "WE" really are and what makes the "I" really happy. We prefer to be rated by virtual "friends", who are mostly complete strangers, and thus reduce ourselves more and more to our appearance - the body.

But in fact we are not our body, our species, our race, our gender, our culture or our religion. At the end of the day, the essence of life is one and the same - call it "energy", "soul" or whatever you want. But it is this very essence that makes us all the same and strive, consciously or unconsciously, for the same desires: a truly happy life without suffering and pain.

Discovering this mysterious essence, the true "I", is certainly not easy and the ways to get there are many. It is also not always nice and comfortable. In fact, it can also be a real, painful struggle. But as the saying goes, "the journey is the destination".

So let's take the time and courage to put our minds back in our hands and unplug the virtual world once in a while. Let's use technology privately for what we need it for the least and not let technology use us. Let's take more time for ourselves again, to get completely calm and let's go in search of our "I".

Be it at home or during walks through the forest. Let's create a place where we feel comfortable and then go into ourselves - see ourselves as part of creation, the world, nature, the universe. Let's listen again to the sounds of nature as well as our own breath. Let us stay in the here and now instead of in the past and future. Let us enjoy the power of silence and move in the natural flow of the energies that surround and permeate us. Let us learn to recognize ourselves again, because we are all unique and beautiful souls on a journey to the absolute truth.

In the search for an inner peace and the true "I", it is also not about religion. As Srila Prabhupada said, this path is a spiritual science, whether you are a Christian, Muslim, Jew or even an atheist. On the path, some obstacles will also hinder us, be it sensual desire, rejection, inertia, restlessness, or doubting what we are doing it all for.

But these obstacles can also be overcome. So meditation can help to set the necessary focus on the essential, to fade out these obstacles to the "I", the true consciousness, and to free the mind. Everyone has to find out for themselves which way is the right one - because there are incredibly many types of meditations, each of which works with completely different points of concentration.

Some focus on sitting quietly as in Metta, Shamatha or Anapana meditation, others focus on jumping around wildly, still others use slow movements as in yoga or chanting.

One that really always helps me to clean my mind - among other techniques - is the Japa meditation. This can be done sitting still or even while walking, so it's pretty suitable for everyday use. During Japa you concentrate on several things at the same time, so that the thoughts (obstacles) have less chance to get the upper hand and after some time you can glide into a deep meditative state. The only thing you need for this is a mantra and a mala necklace.

A very proven mantra, which I myself use every day, is the Maha Mantra:

“HARE KRISHNA HARE KRISHNA KRISHNA KRISHNA HARE HARE HARE RAMA HARE RAMA RAMA RAMA HARE HARE”

Even though this kind of meditation is a quick and easy way to switch off, be patient with yourself. It is always possible that it will not work 100% for you right away. Especially at the beginning it is quite normal that the "mind monkey" rages and many thoughts race wildly through your mind.

If you still find it difficult after several attempts, try the following: concentrate more on the beads in your fingers, then on the sound of your voice and then on the feeling while you speak the words. In the end, meditating is also a learning process and your body and mind need to get used to this new form of engagement. But stick with it and do it for a while - then you will soon realize the benefits and take a first step towards your consciousness.

So don't be afraid - just go offline, unplug and give it a try!

Hari Om Tat Sat.

[mage-and-the-tantrums]

The Courage of Letting Go

My project had crashed yet again. My laptop is telling me in all the possible languages that my hard drive is dying, and that I need to replace it soon. Yet I still ask +10 hours out of it daily. All I have left to do is reboot, see all of my data get wiped out, reinstall, reconfigure, wait and hope for the best. Again, again, again, until the green lines in my console numb my already half-asleep brain.

5:45AM. Early morning breeze is refreshing, birds are chirping annoyingly, I try to remember the last time I was able to really breath-in a morning, when I had a proper sleep schedule. I carefully navigate the labyrinths of what they might think or say, and plan accordingly. I realize that simplicity is the ultimate sophistication, and that silence is indeed a divine language that I gladly speak.

25 imaginary conversations, one rant to my mom and 2 of my other friends, 3 weeks of self-inflicted isolation, and yet it still does feel right, in every possible aspect. I feel as if a burden had been cast from my back. I feel very light, and kind of excited for the unknown that would fill the void of what has been there. That huge chunk I orbited around for so long had finally pushed me a little bit too hard, into an open space suspension. In fact, it has been pushing me away for quite some time, but only equal to my desire to stay. Those forces eventually negated each other, and I stayed in inertia, comfortably numb, orbiting around a ruined star I thought was one of my riches.

We are creatures of habit. We are always afraid of change, and we prefer it would be inevitable and outside of our control. If change was inevitable, we would let it come to us rather than seeking it, even when we desperately need it. The human brain always sides with the known, within the confines of the familiar. We cling into relationships, belongings, countries, jobs, that are hurting us more than we could ever imagine. And yet we fail to realize that we are suffering directly because of those. And so letting go seems like a funny, extremely dark thought that one should never act upon it. Letting go does not even cross our minds for most of the time.

But some things do not require change. We value longevity, we identify with rituals and we appreciate sanctuaries. Places or people we go to regularly, and come running back towards when the world is unfair. Friends, family, romantic relationships, motherland, hometown. In fact these should not change at all costs, naturally and ideally, as they join to form our identity.

However, these deeply rooted landmarks should be questioned regularly. It's not because that one cannot change or disregard their family that we should put up with their toxicity for example. One should be brave enough to seek change in the forbidden "longevity" department I was talking about earlier, if change is required. One should take the leap of faith, and have the courage to break their own heart. One should listen to the deep voice within when it tells them to leave.

In my case, I had been among this gang of friends for 8 years or so now. We have been through a lot, and I thought I had a safe haven in which I could be simply me, and still feel loved and cared for. Being with my gang always meant recharge and safety, for quite some time.

As I went abroad for education, our relationships suffered heavily from the stress-test of distance. It was very clear to me that I mean nothing to them, and that they see nothing past the things I could offer: rides, professional advice, help with writing a CV, help with a university course, and so on. I soon discovered that they go out without me, systematically and on so many occasions, that I am kept away from their lives and that my struggles mean nothing but something to make fun of, collectively (yes, they mocked me openly once for falling in love with someone who later decided to marry someone else).

The thing that kept me going back to them is them being part of home, being part of something I achingly longed for when I was expatriated, and so I never thought twice before running back to them. My expectations surely lowered to rock-bottom, but I still invested my time and energy unto the gang.

Being back home once again has cast a very big light unto everything in my life. Now I can see very clearly that I am a mere decor, and that people call me only for my car or just to fill the space and not be completely alone. When they ask about some detail in my life, their questions hit me as mixed with a little bit of spite and envy. Maybe I am wrong on this last point, but I would not be surprised. It's no longer a serene sanctuary, it is a toxic tar pit.

The courage of letting go is a mystical force that descends, and suddenly everything is clear. Being honest with yourself is crucial for you to feel this. Once you open your gates, the voice of your gut that has been muffled for years is now a limpid, comforting sound. The courage of letting go is a force that once armed, should not be disregarded. The courage of letting go is another form of acceptance, a blessing.

You should not put up with a toxic friend or relative. You should not do something that does not make you feel good just because you're afraid what else is there for you. What if I cut loose my friends ? what will happen then ? No one knows, and quite frankly, it is exciting to get that space filled up by literally anything else.

This is not a piece of writing that would end with "maybe I am wrong after all". I have given every benefit; of doubt, of love, of affection, of temporary loss of interest, of casual indifference, of good intention. Not once, not twice. It has been years. And maybe it was not like this all the time. Maybe we changed. But I know for sure that I am better off without all of them. I know now that I had been exploited for the past years, and I know I represent nothing for all of them. I am not dumb to not realize when I am shoved away and made fun off systematically by people who are not necessarily better than me in any aspect. This feels like an echo of my early teenage years when I was bullied. That period also ended when I decided to stand up for myself because no one else did. I wrote a big-ass message and I cut all my ties with them. How ironically and sometimes stupidly history repeats itself.

I am glad I now have a wider perspective, and that now I accept the sight of you in my rear-view mirror getting further and further until you're an infinitesimal, irrelevant dot. A sight that has been silently hurting me for years. I always put that under the tab of my over-sensitivity as you would say, you being the expert know-it-all-even-psychoanalysis. I lowered my expectations, I doubted myself, I made myself believe what you thought of me, I asked less and less of you, while you took more and more. Time, effort, attention, consideration, ...

Now you're yesterday news, and I wish for you all the best on your journey, and for our paths to untangle and never ever cross again. Thanks for the memories, and thanks for the pain.

"Joy might visit us unexpectedly, set up the candles it might pass by us spray the way with tears Oh, my heart, where is your sorrow? I hid it away from the joy's path you keep whining you wail with tears of a distressed But this is a mere illusion, too high in heavens Take care not not shout sorrowfully, as sorrow can be heard." - Aziz Al-Samawi (sung by Ilham Al-Madfai : Khuttar)

[youllallriseintheink]

Angel of the Ink Machine, chapter 6: To Bring Back a Legend

The Angel of the Ink Machine is an AU in which Sammy left the studio instead of Henry, leaving Joey in need of a new partner in his magical mayhem- one who is far more capable of jousting with him for power over the project.

This AU ended up longer than I thought it would. Oh well! The next chapter should be out within a couple days (it’s in the editing stage), and then a final chapter, which will probably be a fairly short one, will be out within a week or less. I hope no one’s getting sick of this yet!

Days passed. Allison continued as a voice actress. She and Joey didn’t speak. Joey figured he shouldn’t fire her- shouldn’t set her off- until that final dose of potion was in his hands. Allison didn’t want to threaten him at all, lest he turn off the ink machine and kill her. She was only giving him the last dose of potion out of fear that he might not maintain the machine for the sake of one performing toon.

Joey’s mind was full of plans of how to use the final dose of potion, and an empty feeling of betrayal. Allison was a traitor. Just like Sammy. Just like he’d thought Henry was until he figured out the truth: Henry hadn’t been a traitor, he’d merely fallen in with the wrong company and been ruined as a result. He still remembered the last time he’d spoken to Henry, over six years ago.

—

It seemed like just a day like any other. Henry had scheduled an appointment to meet with him, but it could have been about anything. Joey wasn’t concerned over it in the slightest until Henry had stepped in and refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m giving my two weeks’ notice,” he’d said, lowering himself into the chair.

By that point, Joey was quite used to having to pep-talk Henry out of moods like this- it was little more than an annoyance. “Henry. The first time you gave me a threat like that was years ago. If you’d quit then, think of all the things you wouldn’t have shared in the creation of. This isn’t any different than that time, or any of the other little crisis of faith you’ve had. You just have to ignore it and push through, and you’ll have your passion for the studio back in no time.”

“Joey, this isn’t something you can pep-talk me out of. Look, I know that animation is an inherently labour-intensive art form. And maybe it isn’t you- maybe I’m just not cut out for it. All I know is… after animation cost me my relationship with Linda and my friendship with you? I just never want to draw again. These last nine years at this studio have killed the artist in me. I’m sorry.”

Joey sat in stunned silence. He would have exploded if Henry had simply quit, but this was stupefying. Henry not wanting to draw was like the sun not wanting to shine or water not wanting to hydrate.

“Thanks for understanding,” Henry said after the silence had stretched on long enough. He got up to leave, snapping Joey out of his inertia.

Joey got up and grabbed Henry’s arm. “You’re not making any sense. You’re one of the best artists here. Why would you just- throw away your worth like this?”

Henry didn’t have a response for that. He’d been manipulated into staying at least a couple times before. The only way to beat Joey at his game is to refuse to play.

“I don’t know how to justify it to you, but I don’t have to. Sorry.”

With that, Henry had left the room.

—

At first, Joey hadn’t known what to make of that. He’d misdirected his anger at Henry and ruminated for days on what could have gone wrong with him. It wasn’t until much later that he’d figured it out. Henry had been spending far too much time with the studio’s director of finances, Grant Cohen.

Joey hadn’t given Mr. Cohen much thought until he and Henry had started spending time together, because at the time, the studio had been doing moderately well financially, and thus he hadn’t been attempting to cause any problems. Even when he and Henry were beginning to spend time together, Joey hadn’t intervened. He was jealous of them, yes, but he knew he was the better man, that their silly relationship wouldn’t last, and that Henry would be his eventually. That’s what had happened with Linda, after all.

Of course, now Joey knew more about Mr. Cohen. The studio’s finances had gotten bad enough that he could justify making every effort to stomp on every one of Joey’s dreams. If it were up to him, there would have been no ink machine, no Bendyland, heck, he would probably shut down the whole studio if he could, saying that it “had no discernible use”  “springs massive leaks on a weekly basis,” and “could bankrupt you if you keep spending on it at this rate.” Of course such a person had met someone as malleable as Henry and convinced him to give up on such an important part of himself as soon as the going had gotten tough. Of course such a person wouldn’t appreciate his artistic talents. Joey had seen Henry get increasingly tired and pessimistic during his time at the studio. Probably from being with the worst possible person for him.

But there was a chance that Joey could fix that now. Bring back the Henry he’d fallen in love with.

It was back in the ex-speakeasy where he and Allison had met that Joey found the person he was looking for: a scarred, burly man he knew only by his street name- Sharktank.

Sharktank was a drug dealer, a career criminal, and the best and most risk-taking magician Joey knew of. Joey knew his reputation and had bought some pentagram-related spell books from him, but otherwise left him alone because Joey did not enjoy feeling like a frightened rabbit.

“I have an opportunity for you. It involves the alteration of a spell. I'll pay two hundred up-front and another two hundred once the job is complete. Alright?”

“Sure. What spell is it?”

“I have a spell that can erase a person’s personal memories. I’d like it altered so that it could, say- erase only the last seven years of a person’s memory. Sound doable?”

Sharktank smiled. “Very. But how do I know that you won’t use it on me and stiff me?”

“It’s pentagram-based. Not flash-and-it’s-done. So it just isn’t possible to do that.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” Joey handed over the spell and some of his contact information and left as quickly as he could.

There was a good chance that he’d never see his two hundred again. Joey decided that if the spell took over a month, he’d just have to let go of Henry and use a different Bendy. If he did get the spell before that, he’d have to wait until his cast came off anyhow, so that he could draw a creature suitable to be both a perfect Bendy and his partner.

In the meantime, he found a Boris: a boy named Buddy that he’d hired. He’d been easy to convince just by promising him more than enough money for his family to live in comfort. Because Allison wasn’t there, he didn’t have anyone scaring him away from the idea, and he’d signed right on. Maybe it really was better for him to do his magic on his own. Joey planned for a few others he could kill as well, if time permitted when the day came.

Sharktank provided the spell mere days before Joey’s cast came off, and the day the cast was off, Joey was brushing aside a number of freshly-drawn Bendies on his desk at home to write a letter to Henry.

Dear Henry,

Sorry it’s been so long.

How have you been doing?

I would love to show you around the studio sometime. It’s grown a lot since you were last here. Is there sometime in the near future that would work for you?

-Joey Drew

A few days later, Joey received a letter in return. Henry was willing to come and visit.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

“IT WORTH IT”

Ezequiel “Ez” Reyes x Coco's sister!reader

Anon asked: if it’s okay for you could you write a ez Reyes x coco’s sister!reader ?

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: soft physical abuse and smut.

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. English isn’t my first language, I’m sorry if I have some mistakes with grammar. The gif isn't mine.

Thanks to my lovely @starrynite7114 for helping me reading it before posting, looking for mistakes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

When Coco founds you and told you he killed your mother, you started to laugh uncontrollably. You couldn’t believe it was true. That bitch, and never better said, forced you to ‘work on the streets’. Besides, every dollar you earned, she kept it. Your brother had a serious gesture in his face, telling you without words that he wasn’t joking. Your eyes started to cover in tears, setting up a knot in your chest. Hell was over. You hugged him, putting your arms around his waist, letting all the pain out of your body. Took some seconds to Johnny to do the same, holding you in his arms next to his body. It was time to go back home.

You slept non-stop for the next two days, getting up off the bed only when you were needing to eat something or go to the bathroom. Coco took care of everything. He paid the debts your mother left in your name and also gave you some money to buy decent clothes to wear. While Letti was recovering her life too, going to high-school as a girl of her age, your brother found you a new job. It wasn’t your favorite thing on earth, but it was a decent job.

Felipe was Angel and EZ’s father. An old man with a strange past, like Coco said, who needed some help with his carnicería. From Monday to Thursday, he hired you to serve the customers in the morning. At first, you thought that could be boring, but that man was really funny, kind, and intelligent. When everything was calmed and there wasn't any client to attend, he used to talk to you about books and the kind of poetry his deceased wife loved. An old and wise man who understood that you were forced to destroy your life, and now you were looking for a second chance.

After some months working there, Felipe trusted you more than his children and for that he asked you to close the shop Friday night. You didn’t asked, you never did and you’ll never do.

It’s almost ten when the last customer left the place, closing and locking the door, sighing as you did. You leave the apron hanging in the wall coat rack, before washing your hands with soap and disinfectant. Then, you’re ready to count the money and keep it safe in the warehouse. You write down in the notebook an orders summary of the day and how much was the total, as your boss showed you to close the day. After leaving everything clean and changing your clothes, you go out through the back door to the alley, locking it with the keys he gave you. Coco told you to go to the MC where they’re having a party, but the only thing you wanna do is go home, eat something, watch a movie and sleep.

You walk down the empty avenue with hands inside your pocket and your eyes looking straight ahead, but you’re not paying attention to anything that is happening around you, thinking in your own business. Because of that, you don’t see it coming. Long fingers grab your hair, pulling you back. The scream, that you utter falling down to the floor, finishes when your head hits it. A sharp beep settles in your ears, when you see blurry. A man lays on top of you and starts to punch you. One fist goes to your cheek making it burn in pain. You try to set yourself free, moving desperately behind him. The second fist goes to your mouth, breaking your inner lip and leaving the metallic taste of blood runs down by your throat. It hurts. It hurts too much. You ask for help, but you know how Santo Padre works. If a chulo is hitting one of his bitches, anybody is gonna separate him from you. But you’re not that shit anymore. And you try to fight.

When you’re pretty sure the third fist is gonna leave you knocked out, the arm stops raising in the air. Coco is there. Angel, Gilly, Creeper and EZ too. The youngest Reyes helps you to get up, wrapping in his strong arms guiding you to his bike. The guys are fucking up the man that dared to mess with you, after being paid with a huge amount of money. You’re crying harder, hiding your face against EZ’s chest till he makes you sit on his motorbike.

“Hey, hey… Look at me.” He took your cheeks between his big hands, having a look of your face to know if you’re okay. But they’re not gonna bring you to the hospital, they’re gonna take care of you by themselves. He hugged you again in the warmest way, giving you a kiss on top of the head, before Coco could walk next to you. He kisses you too, feeling protected when the men stuck around you.

“Probably will send some of his men tomorrow.” Creeper said looking at the guy laying on the ground unconscious.

“Eh, boy scout, could she stay with ya’ tonig’? She will be safe in the roulotte, near the ' ‘clubhouse”. Coco doesn’t want him to do it, he wants to protect you. But Johnny knows he must burn the fucking place where that man locked you once.

“I’ll take care of her. Rest is yours”. EZ nodded, helping you to fasten the helmet, before driving away.

He presses the wet cotton in alcohol against your inner lip, after cleaning the blood that was running through your jaw and neck. He’s doing it softly without wanting to hurt you more, while you're holding a bag of frozen peas on your check. The pain is fading, but you know well that tomorrow you’re gonna have some bruises in your face. EZ is very concentrated in his task, doing it slowly till seems better.

“I’m sorry”. You finally say with your eyes down, trying not to cry again.

“Why?” He looks confused, putting apart the cotton. He gets up off the small bed to bring you some water.

“You were having fun, I just… I ruined it”.

“No, you didn’t, (Y/N)”. He shakes his head, taking a seat in front of you, more close than you can really notice. “Coco thinks that should be fun if you come with us and Letti. And Angel was worried about you closing the shop alone. He wasn’t wrong.”

EZ simply shrugs. He knows you. He knows you well, ‘cause the time he isn’t with the MC, he visits you and his father in the carnicería. He also is always recommending you books to read in your free time, to talk about them after you finish them. He was kind to you since you met him, everybody is, but he does the most. So, you’re not sure when you decided it was a good idea to kiss him. But there you are with your hands supported in his knees, pressing your lips against his. At first, he can’t react, keeping his eyes open. And you’re about to put yourself away when he pushes you into him with his hands on your waist. Sitting on his lap, the kiss goes deep. Even the pain in your mouth doesn’t stop you to receive his curious tongue looking for yours. It feels good. It’s not your first one, but it’s the first time you do it ‘cause you want it without being forced.

As the seconds go by, it gets more passionate and needy. You two have been avoiding it because of Coco, but you’re about to die or something worse. His hands run over your hips, your back and your breast, letting him strain a hand under your dress looking for your panties. When he slices it down your legs, the next move is put down the zipper. He's hard, more than you could feel when your hips were dancing on top of him seconds ago. You do when he rams you without expecting it. Your groan meets his roar in your pressed lips against his. He doesn't make another move, waiting to you to feel comfortable with his hardness invading your narrowness. It's not your first time, he knows. But it's been a long time since your last and, of course, it's not the same.

You want please EZ and he wanna do you the same. Maybe it's not about love or maybe it is. But you two feel the desire running in your veins. And you want to do it before Coco arrives and kills you both. You start to move your hips, from up to down, slowly. Enjoying for the first time with your hands on his nape and his on your waist. You move faster according to, to feel more pleasure, forehead against forehead, with his light brown eyes on yours to not miss a single detail. He loved the way you whispered his name, moaning against his lips, once and again.

“You like it… uh?” He asks in a whisper, knowing what he is referring to.

“Ye-Yes. I really do, EZ”. You nod with your chin before get kissed slowly than the moves of your hips do by inertia.

The youngest Reyes smiles softly, feeling how the heat begins to focus in his cock. He doesn't know how he should ask you, but you were with more men that you wanna remember and you feel it. No words needed. You want him to do it, so pull him out it's not an option. Moving faster, your moans meets again, you can't avoid it. Both are sweating and you're tongues are fighting inside his mouth. Feels so good. And you think you can touch the sky when he finally cums inside you, with a fury roar drowned in his throat. Your orgasm comes too a few seconds later with his full name going out your lips.

The only things that break the silence inside the roulotte are your heavy breathing and some complicit laughs.

“Do you... know is the first time someone… ‘do it’? You whisper with a low tone in your voice, trying to make him know that never before anyone cum inside you, nor make you come to an orgasm.

His proud smile appears from nowhere, giving you some short kisses without moving an inch.

“When I get the patch, I'll ask Coco for you”. He confesses laying his back against the wall to have a better view of you. “Will you wait for me?”

It's a question you don't expect. At least, not in a moment like this. But, yes. You're going to wait as long as it takes.

[etherati]

Our Possible Pasts [2/?]

Warnings: Some unkind words from goat farmers.

*

A drifting feeling, then—like being afloat in the Dead Sea, except that that requires being, having a body for gravity and the bouyancy of salt to act upon, and there is no physicality of existence, here. There is no being. There is no here.

Then a warm touch against her mind, curious, kind, but in a way that is barely formed—the first primitive sparking of a consciousness not yet born, or the last vestiges of one fading into the black. It wants something from her. It wants something for her. It wants, and it cannot communicate what it wants, but there's a heat rising through her awareness that feels familiar, like something she's felt before, and—

[She's exhausted, her energy drained by the strange spell, and even as she goes off her feet she knows Alucard will be there to catch her—he lifts her under her shoulders and knees and sets her gently into the blanket she and Trevor had shared the night before, the mustiness a familiar comfort. Far away, a thud and an explosion as the last demon goes up in ash. Footsteps, approaching.

"Sypha," Alucard asks, quiet but urgent. "Where's the castle?"

"Still in Braila," she gasps, because it had fought too hard for her to drag it to them, through the inertia of all the miles of space in between them. But she is still proud of herself, she has still succeeded, because: "It is stuck, though. Bound there. It is going nowhere else."

"Well then," she hears Trevor in the background, just before she passes out, "guess we have a hike on our hands."]

[The day they leave Trevor's old home, things feel different than they did when they arrived. The wagon feels less crowded. The sun casts longer, warmer shadows. Trevor and Alucard talk, now, the barbs less pointed, the silences contemplative, the sympathies genuine. Something changed between them all, in that musty old museum of death and magic, and now they will never be the same. Perhaps that's all right.]

[The third day out from the ruins, a snow storm hits while they're on the road, and it's almost a cliche—they huddle together under every blanket they have, stay in the wagon out of the wind, and when it's all over they stumble out again, Trevor and Sypha stiff-jointed and frost-nipped, Alucard looking more flushed with warmth than they've ever seen him, and they laugh and track down the horses and throw thick handfuls of snow at each other and wonder at this hushed, crystalline space they've woken up into and how it can possibly exist in a world that Dracula is tearing into bloody rends—]

[Five days out and Alucard is looking sickly and weak and they all know why, and there are no words about it—just a blade and an offering, and then they will always know each other deeper than blood—]

[Hands and hands and hands in the dark, in the light, holding on and holding back, gentling and reassuring, on weapons and on other hands, and heavier than all of them is the hand of fate, driving them onwards—]

["This place feels weird," Trevor says, hand not leaving the hilt of his ancestor's sword for even a second as he turns, takes in the abandoned yard, the farmhouse with its caved-in roof, the nearby stream musical with the tinkling of ice shards on its surface, crashing into rocks, into each other. They need somewhere to spend the night, but… "I'm not sure—"

"Afraid it's haunted?" Alucard teases, and Trevor's frown gets flatter but when Sypha turns away from them to look out over the grassy field beyond the yard's fence, a full body shiver runs through her that's nothing to do with the cold. Were those shadows that dense, before? The fog so thick? The eerie silence, broken only by that tinkling ice, as profound and complete as it is now?]

[So many opportunities, to become who they're meant to be. So many missed chances.]

The warmth touching her mind floods into her then, meets that rising heat, and for a moment, the energy that was once Sypha Belnades feels almost as if there is a new star being born from within, a white hot flash against the darkness casting what is left of her regrets into sharp silhouette—

Then it is gone, and she is gone, and the world spins onward.

*

When she opens her eyes, the first question—because Sypha Belnades is nothing if not inquisitive—is: why is she opening them again? When she'd closed them she'd figured that would be her last look at the world, and if that bloodbath is what she's giving up, the world in shreds and her closest companions dead and gone, then it's no loss. So why is she now feeling the fluttering of lashes against her cheeks, her eyes gritty and heavy as she forces then open?

The first thing she sees doesn't provide any answers. It's just wood—scratchy, worn-rough wood hanging in front of her eyes as if she's a mere half foot from a wall—

No. The wood isn't hanging; her head is, propped up on arms folded in apathetic defeat. There are sounds of people talking boisterously across the room. She can smell ale.

If this is the afterlife, she thinks groggily, someone's gotten her and Trevor mixed up. Or maybe this is meant to be a punishment. Her people are, after all, the enemies of God. She holds her breath experimentally—if she's dead, she shouldn't need—

But the burning in her lungs builds and builds, and with it the pain of her companions' absence, and when she finally gasps for breath, it's a shock—and a relief—to not feel it bubbling through blood.

So—what, then? She's alive, somehow? But also in mysteriously much better condition than she was a few moments ago, if the ease of her breath it's anything to go by, so... maybe they are also—

"What's the problem, lass?" One of the men at the bar is looking at her strangely, a little crookedly, and she did just gasp out loud like a drowning fish. "Our chatter offendin' your, uh. Sensi—sensibilities?"

"Pack it in," says his heavyset companion. "If she's in here, she ain't offended by naught. One of those kinda lasses."

"Oh, aye," says the taller man, nodding his head sagely. "My cousin went for one of them once—she almost bit it off."

"Lucky he didn't get a dagger up his arse."

A dagger up—well, that's a unique way to turn someone down. Sypha won't admit it later, but she's having trouble following all of this, and she isn't sure if it's because of the odd local accent, her disorientation in general given that she's supposed to be dead, or…

She eyes the five empty tankards scattered across the table in front of her. Oh, for god's sake. She's drunk, isn't she?

"Arse-daggers or not," the barkeep says, raising his voice in a way that says it's meant for her. "She'll be needing to pay her drinks off now. You got coin, love?"

Oh. Oh, oh no. Speakers don't usually carry money individually—but they don't know that, and what is she even thinking about, this is clearly a demented dream in the last seconds before she dies so the rules don't matter because if they did she wouldn't be drunk to begin with—

The barkeep is staring at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

All right, think. Where in her robes might she have—she looks down at herself, starts patting around before she realizes that she's not wearing her robes. She's wearing—

Okay. Theory that the hereafter has gotten her and Trevor confused: confirmed. That's the only explanation for why she would be wearing his tunic, with his crossed weapon sashes and sword belt and the ridiculous fur-trimmed cloak which—goodness, for a construct of the afterlife, it really does smell a true-to-life kind of bad.

She pushes to her feet, tottering a little against all the drink, and continues to peer down at her own clothes—it isn't exactly Trevor's tunic, she realizes, fingering the unfamiliar gold crest on the left breast—stylistically similar, but not the same. Not the Belmont crest.

There's a shuffling of movement at the bar as she approaches, the sound of bar stools scraping the floor. The atmosphere abruptly shifts from lazy, harmless troublemaking to something much more hostile, the sort of change she's been trained since childhood to pick up on in a crowd.

It's fine. It's been a long time since random humans were much of a real threat to her. Maybe in the real world she'd try to de-escalate to avoid revealing her magic, but that hardly matters here—wherever here is. She can handle herself.

"You!" the thickset man hisses, all fear of her supposed dagger skills evaporated, a finger leveled accusingly at her. "I know that crest. You're a bloody Belnades."

"I… yes?" Sypha narrows an eye at him. Not quite where she expected this to go. And it's odd that he would know her name, because Speakers are not loose with them around strangers, but it isn't a false statement. Warily: "Can I help you somehow?"

"Help me!" he scoffs. "You want to help me by bringing your devil hordes down on my town? Is that what you call helping?"

Ah. This nonsense again—the Speakers cause devilry everywhere they go. Blame the Speakers when you can't deal with shouldering the blame yourself. She rolls her eyes, out of patience and grace with this sort of bigotry—it nearly killed her family, and she's tired of it. "I did nothing of the sort," she says, cool and controlled. "You cannot blame everything—"

"I can bloody well blame you for this, you demon-summoning, excommunicated witch."

Excommun—that doesn't make any sense. Trevor's the one with the excommunicated family, the one who was being blamed by—

Oh.

"Why does every story you've told me end with you getting punched in the face?" she'd asked, and the story he'd just told her, the goat farmers in the bar blaming him for the night creature attacks, had been a classic example—and he'd said that everyone else was a horrible piece of shit but that couldn't really be true, he must have done something—

Sypha squints. "You're the goat farmers," she says.

"And what's it to you? Too good for the people that make your wool and your meat? Or just too busy watching your demon friends kill us all to give a rat's arse about us?"

The taller man puts a hand on the angry one's shoulder. "Settle down, Boscha, she's just a lass. You ain't gonna hit a lass."

"Like hell I will," the man spits back, and true to his word, takes a swing. It's uncoordinated and amateurish, but as Sypha brings her hands up to summon an ice shield between them—nothing happens.

Nothing. No ice. No light. No familiar tingling feeling of her magic simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. It's not simply drained—she expects to be drained after the spell she'd tried to work on that monster, but she knows what drained magic feels like and this isn't it. It's just… it's gone.

And distracted by this realization, she completely fails to actually dodge the punch—and clumsy or not, the man is thick with the muscle of a laborer and the hit lands hard. The next thing she knows, she's on the floor, leaned back into a jumble of chair and table legs, and when she looks up, the man is taking slow, menacing steps towards her.

"Witches and black magicians, the whole lot of you," he mutters, kicking one of the chairs aside. "We should have killed you all when we had the chance. But we didn't, and now just look what that's brought down on us."

Sypha glares up at him, feeling the ferocity on her own face. There's blood running down her cheek, but she's recently suffered far worse than that; once a person has died of massive internal bleeding, a scrape doesn't really faze them.

Witches and magicians, huh? Shame it doesn't seem to be true, for whatever reason. And before Sypha can give herself the chance to mourn that, to even contemplate what life will be like without her magic—before she can take the time to figure out what on earth is going on, here, and where her friends are, and if they're somehow alive as well—she needs to find a way out of this situation.

Her searching hand finds a table leg that's been broken off at the join, that still has a thick, ugly nail protruding from it.

Well. When in Rome, as they say.

*

[rabbitcruiser]

Make Your Bed Day

Make Your Bed Day aims to make everyone aware of the benefits of making the bed every morning! Not to be confused with ‘Aww, Mom, Do I Have To?’ Day, which runs for 364 days in the year, this day is a delightful departure from complaining and encourages folks to enjoy making their beds!

One of the easiest chores that can be accomplished, Make Your Bed Day is filled with fun-filled ways to look at making the bed from a different perspective.

History of Make Your Bed Day

The phrase “make your bed” probably began as early as times when a bed was nothing more than a simple mat on the floor. Tidying up the sleeping space would have been more crucial when families also used sleeping spaces as living spaces; the kid who didn’t make their bed caused the rest of the family to trip over it throughout the day!

But even in more modernized cultures with separate bedrooms, the act of bed making can be filled with many benefits. It seems that getting into the habit of making your bed is a great boon to mental health. Not only that, but having a tidy sleep environment, according to sleep researchers, makes for more restful sleep.

Plus, it could be assumed that starting the day with at least one ‘chore’ already done and dusted creates a more positive attitude and can help a person take the rest of the day’s challenges in stride! As the bed is the focal point of the bedroom, when it’s made, the whole room looks tidier, and becomes more relaxing and less stressful as a result.

How to Celebrate Make Your Bed Day

While some people may think this day sounds like a chore–it’s not! Once people learn the benefits behind it, Make Your Bed can become a delightful day to celebrate. Try out these ideas for engaging in activities:

Do the Obvious: Make Your Bed

Rather than leaping out of bed and into the fray leaving behind a tangled mass of procrastination, use Make Your Bed Day to start a new habit. It’s a tiny little thing that can make a big difference. Once it’s done, many people find that they are a bit more motivated to do something else and a chain reaction is started.

Learn the Benefits of Making Your Bed

In addition to just having a nicer place to live, making your bed can provide these benefits:

Improved Sleep Quality. Sleeping in a calm, clean room helps with relaxation and promotes a better night of sleep, according to the National Sleep Foundation (https://www.sleepfoundation.org/bedroom-environment)

Increased Productivity. Piggybacking on the idea that an object in motion stays in motion, when humans start one small thing, they tend to have more of an ability to do other things as well. On the other hand, plagued by inertia, people who do nothing tend to remain stagnant, unchanged, unmotivated and….unmade!

Reduced Stress. A clear link has been made between the way that living and working in an organized space can improve mental health. Fight against the chaos first thing in the morning by making up that bed.

Get Some New Bedding

Sometimes people don’t want to make their beds because they don’t really take pride in the color, design or beauty of their bedrooms. Make Your Bed Day is the perfect excuse to get a new bedspread, comforter, pillow or blanket. Those who enjoy the way their bedrooms look will feel more at peace.

This can be accomplished by shopping online or popping over to the local home goods store to gain access to some beautiful Egyptian cotton sheets or a lovely down comforter that can fill a colorful duvet cover. Actually, comforters (or duvets) can inspire bed making because there’s no need for a top sheet or those pesky hospital corners! Just throw it over the bed, straighten it, and voila! The bed is made.

Take advantage of Make Your Bed Day to create a new habit–a small task that could impact your entire world!

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